


Are You My Friend?

by JadeLupine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fill, Romance, pre romance?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:49:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeLupine/pseuds/JadeLupine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One crime scene too many, and this one has broken Will Graham.<br/>Broken him like a doll.<br/>Almost catatonic, unresponsive, and he doesn't remember anything at all.<br/>Hannibal takes him home, and tries to fix him, even though the memories of what he almost had with Will threaten to engulf this fragile balance.<br/>Final chap up!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fix Me

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is for this prompt on hannibalkink  
>  __  
> Will goes to a particularly gruesome crime scene and looks through the eyes of the killer--reconstructs his methods and fantasies. But this time--with all the shit Jack's been pushing him through piling on top of the new stresser--it's too much.
> 
>  
> 
> _Will has a huge panic attack, or just flips his shit. Someone manages to calm him down, but his mind, in a bid to save its sanity, has almost completely shut down. Will has become something akin to catatonic._
> 
>  
> 
> _Enter Hannibal. He takes Will home and takes care of him--keeps him at his house and builds up a routine to help ease Will's troubled mind, show Will he's somewhere safe._
> 
>  
> 
> READ ON THEN

“This is my design.”

And Will let the blood rush through his ears, and he let the golden pendulum swing circles as he looked at the mangled bodies of two five year olds, their brains spilled out on the pavement. He tried to immerse himself into the killer’s artwork, and the acrid stench of someone vomiting into a paper bag behind him couldn’t reach his nostrils. He couldn’t hear the retch in Jack’s voice when he spoke, and he could not hear Alana tring not to puke on the floor. He didn’t see how Beverly closed her battle-hardened eyes, and he couldn’t see how Hannibal two feet behind him, had his face screwed up in disgust. He couldn’t see the killer either.

“This is my design.” He whispered, intensely. He tried to see red, he tried to see everything, but all he noticed were the bodies of two, milky-white, sandy blonde children, whose brains must have been more than sidewalk trash days ago.

“This is my design.” He said out loud, and he wanted to see the killer, please, he begged himself. He wanted to see the killer, and he wanted to see how he killed, how he tore up the bodies of the two children, and how he made sure their brains splattered the sidewalk. Jack looked at him, as his voice got insistently louder.

“This. Is. My. Design.” He screamed through gritted teeth, as the killer ran circles in his head, screaming in a foreign tongue, and slashing out the tongues of the five year old children, the girls first, and then the boys. With increasingly vivid clarity, he saw how he made them stop crying and crying, by saying _if you make noise, I’ll kill her. And if you make noise, I’ll kill him, and make you watch_ and so the boy and the girl shut up in silent, paralyzing fear as the killer, the man with the gray, silent eyes and the crazy, salivating mouth ripped into them, softly at first, then intensely. And Will felt something hurt on his hands, and he felt his hair hurting and hurting, and he heard someone screaming as through the sky was falling, but in the picture in his head, all their mouths were shut and Will wondered who was screaming so loudly and piercingly.

And he felt muscled, strong arms around his torso, and he smelt strong, sweet European perfume, and he wondered why Hannibal was holding him, and he wondered why he was sweating, and he marvelled at the endless tears running down his own face. He wondered about the shrill, endless screaming, hoarse and ragged, and he pondered over who would make such an unearthly noise. And he realised, quietly, that his mouth was wide open and his throat was working, and he was the one screaming and screaming.

And then he couldn’t remember anything.

xXx

Jack Crawford had heard many things. He had heard a mother’s pointed sobbing as he told her that everybody she knew was dead. He had heard a killer’s incessant pleading. He had heard his own mother beg his father to _please, Samuel, don’t hit me_ and he had heard his young, pretty Bella sob at night, as her cancer soaked lungs deteriorated. He had heard the most horrible sounds in the world, but nothing had prepared him for this high, keening scream that Will Graham was emitting at the moment, tears rolling down his face, his glasses on the floor, broken.

Lecter had his arms around the man, and he was saying something quietly into his ear, to calm him down Jack, noted, as Alana looked on in blind panic, but Will did not even respond to Lecter, he stood there and screamed and screamed, like a child, and the tears never stopped running down his face, and his hads never stopped tearing at his hair, and as Lecter tried hard, so damn hard to calm the man down, Jack felt guilt curdle in his stomach as if sour milk.

Hannibal noted that Will quickly shut up, as sudden as he had started, his mouth closed, and he sunk to the floor, not in a dead faint, but he was sitting up. Jack ran toward him, as did Alana, and Hannibal felt unfamiliar sweat roll down his back, and stain his shirt. He bent down, to Will’s level, as did the others, and winced when Jack snapped two fingers infront of the man’s face. He snapped twice, quickly, and watched as Will didn’t move his bright blue eyes, and they unfocusedly stared straight ahead.

“Bloom, Lecter,” snapped Jack, fear lacing his words and hardening them. “I think the man’s catatonic.”

Alana threw a look at Jack that didn’t bother to hide the revulsion, and looked intently at Will.

“Will?” she called cautiously, noting Lecter’s face next to hers, sweat shining on it. “Will? Can you hear me?”

Will didn’t say anything, only stared ahead, tears drying into place.

“Will? Will Graham? It is 7.20 PM, you are Baltimore, Maryland, and you are Will Graham.” Hannibal tried, placing a hand on Will’s shoulder.

“The man’s unresponsive.” Jack frowned. “We should take him to the hospital, I suppose.”

Jack had never seen Lecter look so angry as the man glared at him.

“And what can they do?” he snapped harshly, his accent sharpening his fury. “What can they do but put him in a room, and give him a rubber toy to _play_ with?”

“Hannibal…” Alana frowned, but she looked as if she agreed. “Then what shall we do? He might snap out of it.”

“Or he won’t.” Hannibal said darkly. “Right. I will take him to my house and observe him. Tonight at least.”

xXx

 

“Will, can you get out of the car by yourself?” Hannibal asked, opening the door for him, and watching as the other man blankly stepped out of the expensive vehicle and stood dumbly at Hannibal’s door, following as the other man went into the spare bedroom, and switched on the lights. Hannibal peeled off his jacket, as it was sodden with sweat, both Will’s and his own. The shirt would have to wait, he decided, as he looked down at himself, curling his lip in disgust.

“Will, do you want to take a shower?” Hannibal coaxed him, laying a lean hand on the sweaty shoulder.

Will nodded, but he sat simply, looking at his wrist. Suddenly, he started making chopping motions on his wrist with his hand, and his eyes were so blank that Hannibal felt a shiver run down his spine and he pulled up the younger man, and half carried him to his bathroom. The gleaming tiles shone invitingly as Will sat on the edge of the bath, staring straight ahead, his eyes glassing over again. Hannibal let the water run into the bath, and as it was an expensive brand, the tap quickly filled the large tub with foaming, bubbly water, and Will stared blankly at it.

“Undress yourself, Will.” Hannibal told him, the smell of sweat stinging the air. “Get in, then.”

Will merely stood, as Hannibal gingerly approached him, and peeled his shirt off, and laid it on the sink, beofre undoing his pants, and then his boxers. Will stood unashamedly into nude, studying his wrists again, and making chopping motions with his arms. Hannibal helped him into a tub, and swallowed dryly when he saw how the water parted way for Will’s  pale shiny chest, and he felt the faint stirrings of desire inside him, which he guiltily squashed.

Will glanced up at Hannibal, his eyes impossibly blank, and his hair soaped wet.

“What’s your name?” he whispered shyly, soap suds running down his neck.

Hannibal closed his eyes.

Opened them.

Looked at Will.

Plastered a smile on his face.

“My name is Hannibal Lecter.” He tried to forget how he and Will would flirt, sashaying on the edges of a relationship, and those shy, fumbling touches they shared. He tried to forget because Will forgot. “I’m your friend.”

“Okay.”

The smile broke Will’s face like sunshine, and his grin split his dark face in two, his eyes shining. With his hair plastered down, and his observant expression, he looked childlike, and Hannibal wanted to stroke his face. But he couldn’t.

So he turned away, and found a towel, and encouraged Will to get out of the tub.

_I’m in a man’s house._

_His name is Hannibal Lecter._

_He is my friend._

_He is handsome._

_If you talk, I’ll kill her._

_I like this man._

_He has a big house._

_He has a bubble bath._

_If YOU talk, I’ll kill him._

_He is a good artist._

_He is my friend._

_He is my friend._

Hannibal had vacuumed the spare room, and led Will, who was freshly showered, his hair fluffy, and sat him down on the bed. He inadvertently closed his eyes and images of what he and Will had almost done on this bed last time overwhelmed him. Almost. Al-most. It was an ugly word, but a necessary one. He snapped open his eyes, and stared at Will, who smiled at him benignly, and he made to rise, to leave Will alone. He switched off the light, and he turned around firmly, although he could feel the soft blu pinpricks of Will’s eyes in his pack, he made himself walk out of the room, and into his own. He looked at himself in the mirror, asessed the tiredness in his eyes, and his hair, although he had just washed it, was un gelled and limp around his face. He treid not to remember how Will’s naked body had looked in the shower, and he closed his eyes, because Will didn’t remember anything at all, and he fell into a restless sleep, his head lolling in an uncomfortable posture.

It was due to this uncomfortable posture, Hannibal supposed later, that he woke up at one AM with a painful crick in his neck, and his trained ears caught motions from the kitchen, soft, clanking noises. He wondered if Will had gotten hungry and wished for a snack. He heard the dull thump of a drawer opening, and some metallic noises. He was about to close his eyes, and fall back to sleep, when his eyes opened alarmedly, and he shot out of bed clad only in sweatpants and a shirt, because a chill had gripped his spine and refused to let go of it.

Will stood in the kitchen, staring at the wall, making the same chopping motions on his wrist with his hand. He stared ahead, his eyes blissfully blank, and there was a pool of red at his feet, and a coppery, metallic smell in the air, as more crimson dripped at Will’s feet. And it was then, Hannibal noticed with a jolt to his stomach, that Will Graham was making the chopping motion as before, but with a real, sharp knife. Adrenalin spurred him to run ahead, and snatch the knife away, before grabbing Will’s arm, and studying it intently. Will stood calmly, letting his arm be taken.

Hannibal, sweat forming on his forehead, grabbed a small roll of bandages, and unsteadily poured antiseptic over the cuts, before washing away the blood. Will stood silently, even serenely, as the water stung the cuts, and Hannibal was painfully reminded of the time that Will had performed an unholy drama at having one cut cleaned. He finished rolling up the bandages, and mopped the blood off the floor, before glaring at Will.

“What were you doing?”

“Ar you angry at me?” Will asked quietly, seeming to have no recollection of how he had almost cut his arm open.

“Will, why were you cutting your hand?” Hannibal, to his chagrin, felt his accent thicken, slurring the words.

“Are you angry?” Will, who didn’t flinch when the antiseptic was poured over the cuts, or when running water stung them, asked quietly, and his eyes impossibly filled with tears. “You’re angry at me?”

“No, Will.” Hannibal closed his eyes. “Do you want to go to bed now?”

“You’re angry at me.” A tear ran down Will’s cheek, and he started making the chopping motion with his wrist again, harmlessly with his other hand. Hannibal snatched it away.

“I am not angry at you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Now, would you like to go to bed?”

Will considered this, drying his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Yes. Will you stay?”

“Until you fall asleep?” Hannibal swallowed thickly as he was overwhelmed with visions of a sleeping Will, and immediately quelled himself.

“Yes.” And Will fell silent again, and padded to his room, and lay down in the bed, and stared at Hannibal, who sat on the floor next to him, his head leaning on the wall.

“I will stay here until you are asleep, all right, Will?” Hannibal said, from his position on the floor, his head uncomfortably against the wall.

“Ok.” And Will, exhausted with the day’s vigils, no memory of who he was, fell asleep instantly, his cut stinging. Hannibal, his head impossibly close to Will, noticed that his own hands were shaking uncontrollably, and he glared at them, willing them not to be so feeble, and he stared at Will, and wondered why he bothered. It was in that instant that Hannibal realized that the thought of Will not remembering who he was had actually hurt him.

And his head resting against Will’s, he fell into an uneasy sleep on the floor, even though he had meant to go back to his own room. But he didn’t.

_I think he’s angry with me?_

_But he promised he won’t be angry._

_He promised!_

_If you say one word, bitch, I’ll slit your brother’s throat._

_Hannibal has a nice bed._

_I wonder if he has a girlfriend._

_Ha ha ha._

_If you speak, asshole, I’ll make sure your sister dies infront of you._

_Hannibal is sleeping too._

_That’s nice._

_He’s my friend._

_He’s my friend._


	2. Almost Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal tries to take care of Will, stifling his own desire and his own feelings to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGH I LOVED YOUR COMMENTS  
> READ ON!!!

He didn’t ever sleep past eight am, and today was no exception as Hannibal opened his eyes, and found that his back was extremely sore, as he had been leaning against the wall for the majority of the night. _Will,_ his mind remembered as it raced to find where the man was, and his quickening pulse slowed when he found out that Will was awake on the bed, staring straight ahead in a dead, blank stare, as he had done the previous stage. Hannibal got up, hoping his spine wouldn’t break from the stiffness, and sat next to Will.

“Would you like breakfast?” He asked the man, who didn’t respond, only fondled the bandages on his hand cravenly.

“I’ll make anything you prefer.” He tried smiling at Will, but it was far too early in the morning for him to stretch out a genuine smile so he contented himself with a hand on Will’s arm.

“Eggs.” Will whispered, as he looked glassily at his arm. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Yes.” Hannibal said, trying not to recall how previously, Will had clamoured for his cooking, and called him “the best asshole gourmet chef ever.” He tried.

And eggs, scrambled and lightly spiced, were set out in front of Will on a steaming, fragnant plate, and although he had willingly sat at the dinner table, he made no move to eat, and instead, stared down at his arm, and begun making the chopping motions agains, softly. Hannibal closed his eyes, and sat in the chair next to Will’s and held out a spoon.

“It’s good food, you know.” He encouraged him, handing him the spoon, which only slipped limply out of his grasp. “You should eat.”

Will said nothing, and blankly looked at Hannibal, who frowned uneasily. He wasn’t used to caring for invalids, and never in his life had he actually looked after one at home. He took another spoon, and scooped some of the egg into it, and held it up to Will’s mouth. Will complied readily with this, his eyes unfocused, his mouth mechanically opening to swallow the food that Hannibal placed in it. Somehow, slowly between them, they managed to finish the eggs, and Will, as usual it seemed, stared ahead, and began fondling his arm once again. Hannibal tried to banish the painful reminder that the last time he had fed Will, it was when he playfully pushed chocolate into the other man’s mouth.

“You want to take a bath now?” He asked Will, at as loss as to what to do, and since Will nodded, he led the man to the toilet, and smiled at him.

“Will you be fine on your own today?” Hannibal would have said that these words came out of a desire for Will to be independent, but it didn’t. He just did not want to see Will naked again, for fear it might arouse him, which was wrong. Will nodded once, and seemed to understand when Hannibal instructed him to keep the bandaged wrist out of the water, and with a solid clunk of expensive wood, the door closed between them. Hannibal leaned his head against it, and tried not to bash his brains out,  as he was failing so desperately at forgetting who Will _was_ , the twitchy, nervous man, whose smile would make or break his face. Hannibal used to hate Will’s fingers twitching, but at this moment, he thought that if Will voluntarily twitched, he would be the happiest man in the world. And it confused him, truly, why he would care so about a man who was bait, who was only _almost_ his lover. An almost lover. And now they were nothing.

_I woke up early today._

_Hannibal gave me eggs._

_He is my friend._

_They were nice._

_Oh, baby, your little skin is so easy to tear._

_I like this house._

_Look at the taps._

_There’s so much water in the bath._

_Where’s Hannibal?_

_Oh my sweet child, shut the fuck up if you want your sister to live._

_Where’s Hannibal?_

_Maybe he’s underwater._

Hannibal, his head leaning exhaustedly against the door, could hear the sounds of Will having a bath, the quiet splashes and the sounds of settling in, and he didn’t bother to tune them out. And five minutes, almost ten had passed when Hannibal realised he was hearing a frightening new sound, an unfamiliar, jerky one, one which he was used to, but not from Will. It was the sound of deadpan, pressed silence. His chest tightening, he wrenched open the door, and his heart almost stopped as he saw Will, fully clothed, underwater, and no bubbles radiating from where his mouth had been.

In a fit of fear, he wrenched up the unconscious man, who seemed to have swallowed water, and laid him on the bathroom floor, noting that his skin had gone cold, and clammy. He tried checking his breathing, and found nothing, as his heart shot up into his throat. He immediately begun applying compresses to Will’s stomach, and watched as the man coughed up icy bath water, and at that moment, the doctor hated himself, truly hated himself for not listening closer.

Will choked, and spat up more water, before looking at Hannibal quizzically, as if he was unsure why he had been brought to lay sopping wet on the floor. Hannibal tried not to break something as he glared at Will, who merely resumed his blank stare.

It was then, heartbreakingly, that Hannibal noticed that Will had kept the hand he had told him to not wet, he had painstakingly kept it dry, even as he was drowning himself.

He swallowed.

“What possesed you!?” Fear and anger both merged to give Hannibal’s words a sharp undertone, a biting snap, which caused Will, who had a placid, blank expression until now, give Hannibal a scared, tremulous stare.

“Are you angry with me?” He asked in his querulous monotone, and Hannibal closed his eyes, as he felt his heart slowing from the jerky phase.

“No, but Will, you---“

“You’re angry. You’re angry!” Will’s lower lip stuck out and Hannibal almost forgot that he had tried to kill himself, with the force of that pitiful stare.

“I am not angry, Will, but you cannot try to kill yourself. Not…not like this.” Hannibal couldn’t find the words.

“But you’re angry?” Will’s voice quavered anxiously, and Hannibal tried to force a painful, pinched smile on his face.

“No, I’m not angry. Okay, so you can’t not have showers, wh what do you say I take a shower with you, eh?” Hannibal hated to say it, for fear that the close proximity of their bodies might have an effect on his nether regions, but he would rather do anything than have Will try to drown himself again. So he stripped off his shirt and trousers, and eased himself into the tub opposite Will. The water was still pleasantly hot, and there were plenty of bubbles, so Hannibal could maintain a little privacy.

“Are you angry?” Will asked again, circling his wrist with his hand.

“Will, you cannot try to kill yourself.” Hannibal let the hot water soothe his muscles, but unfortunately, even the expensive scented water wasn’t enough to untense the little muscle in his chest.

“Sorry for making you angry.” Will said softly, touching his wrist once again.

“Are you sorry for trying to drown?”

Will’s stare was blank, and he stared ahead again, as if he could not remember what had happened.

“Are you?” Hannibal coaxed.

“No?” Will’s voice was a monotone, and it didn’t occur again.

xXx

And night time occurred all too soon, and Hannibal felt a tight ball of fear creep back into his stomach, as he hoped Will wouldn’t try to kill himself. He probably would, though, he concluded, and he had to prevent that.

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” He asked Will, as the other man lay down on the sheets, and stared blankly upward.

Will nodded.

Hannibal bent down, to resume his position on the floor, and Will spoke again.

“Why are you sitting on the floor?” He asked, a faint frown line appearing between his eyebrows.

“Well, you asked me to stay, no?” Hannibal frowned.

“You can sleep on the bed, if you like.”

Previously, if Will had made his offer two or three days ago, Hannibal would have jumped at the chance to sleep next to his almost-lover, but today, as he lay down stiffly beside Will, he noted that there was no emtion in the other man’s voice, no inflection. He was about to fall asleep, his breathing evening out, as he heard Will whisper again, intensely.

“If you talk, I’ll kill her, and make you watch!” He hissed, his eyes blank as slate, staring up at the ceiling.

“Will?” Hannibal inquired, frowning. “Will, are you all right?”

“And if _you_ talk, Missy,” Will put on a Southern accent, in a hushed, intense whisper. “I’ll kill your brother, and make you watch!”

Hannibal stopped in shock, his hand halfway to Will’s shoulder as his eyes widened. Will was still in the mindset of the killer. Will was still whoever had the two, milky blonde, painfully identical children, who lay mangled on the pavement.

“Naw, you! Don’t say please daddy, as if it’s gonna work, you shit!” Will hissed, his face contorting grotesquely. “Your daddy’s gon’ rip your pretty heart out, baby!”

Hannibal, who had killed at least eighteen people, and ruthlessly consumed them, felt bile rise to his throat as he realized that it was the children’s father who had ripped them to pieces, and he stood, staring blankly at Will, with the force of that information in his hand, weighing him down. Will seemed to wake up, and stared at Hannibal.

“Are you angry?” He asked Hannibal, seemingly the only phrase he remembered.

“No.” Hannibal swallowed, forcing away the image of the dead children, and trying to wave away the picture of twitchy, jolly Will, who used to play games with filthy dogs, and jump on Hannibal’s couch and _sit in his chair_ for fun. He forced it away, and lay a hand on Will’s shoulder.

“Sleep.” He said, and Will did.

_Hannibal had a shower with me._

_I kept my hand dry like he said._

_I think I was good._

_Shut your mouth, girlie, I’m only rippin’ out yo’ spleen._

_I like dinner today._

_It was steak._

_I think I make Hannibal angry sometimes._

_Am I bad?_

_He’s nice._

_I hate you bloody kids! You aint mine! They ain’t provin’ it!_

_He’s nice._

_He’s my friend._

_Hannibal’s my friend._

The mobile phone buzzed in Hannibal’s trouser pocket as he looked at the sleeping Will, and he slinked away to the next room, and pressed it to his ear, trying to speak in a whisper so as to not wake Will.

“Lecter?” A brusque voice asked. “It’s Jack here.”

“Oh.” White hot anger shot threogh Hannibal like a closed fist. “Did you remember your _best agent_? Did you manage to get another lackey to do your cases so quickly?”

“Lecter, I choose to ignore that.”

“Don’t ignore it.” Hannibal would never have been so bitingly rude, but he didn’t know what else to do to this man who had pushed Will over the edge.

“Is he talking?” Jack asked softly.

“Yes, but he rememebers nothing. He is almost catatonic, yet remembers simple---“

“The specialist I referred to says” Jack cut across him, “That with his unique ability, he might have crossed into the mindset of the killer.”

Hannibal nodded. It seemed highly possible.

“It was their father.” He informed Jack through the ball of revulsion.

“I know,” Jack said. “He was a bit careless, and we’re trying to trace him. Apparently he was physically abusing the kids for a while. Drove them suicidal sometimes, I think, their kindergarten teacher once said they tried to jump out of a window holding hands.”

Hannibal swallowed again, as a cold realisation sank into his stomach.

“Jack?” He asked, forgetting that this was the man who drove Will to this point. “Jack. Will has gone into the killer’s mindset hundreds of times. This has never happened?”

“So who is it then?”

“Both.” Hannibal whispered through the crackling of the phone. “He is suicidal, like the children. Sometimes, he speaks childishly, but sometimes, he is very self aware, like an adult. I think he has gotten into both their minds.”

“But they were dead!” Jack cursed at this new possibility. “That would explain it, though. Bloody hell, he’s suicidal?”

“Yes. Twice he tried to kill himself. Once by cutting his wrist, and the other by trying to drown himself.”

“Very childish ways of suicide…” Jack mused, frowning. “Yes, I agree. He must have gotten into both their minds. It proved too much. Did you stop him?”

“Yes.” Hannibal’s voice was weak because he almost didn’t. Almost. The ugliest word in the world.

And he put the phone down on Jack, and went to look at Will, who was sleeping, his hands straight ahead by his side, and his face pale and clammy. He felt a surge of irrational longing and quelled it, like he had quelled everything else.

“Do you remember?” He muttered to the sleeping man, as he slid into bed beside him. “Do you remember how you were so full of life?”

No response, as Will continued sleeping.

“Do you remember how you would laugh, sometimes? Do you remember how you would walk around the office? Sit on my desk?” He let the ghost of a laugh float across his lips.

“Do you remember me? Us? We were almost lovers, Will. We were almost lovers. Do you remember me, Will?” He whispered, even as Will breathed evenly, lost in sleep.

And Hannibal pressed his head into the pillow, wishing for sleep to take him swiftly, hoping that when he woke up, Will would point a finger at his face and scream _haha, fooled you!_ And sleep did overtake him, restless, and uneasy.

_We were almost lovers, Will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here it is! Heheh  
> So please please, do tell me what you thought of this chapter, and do leave a few comments!  
> I love you eheheh  
> Comment button below!


	3. Losing Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There comes a limit to everything. Sometimes, you just can't take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ASDF HELLO ANGST HELLO  
> READ ON

And eight days whistled by in a rush of duty and routine, as Will continued to act as if he were still in a state, and Hannibal just tried to make sure the man didn’t kill himself. On the third day, Alana stopped by and inquired as to the other man’s health, concern etching her pretty countenance, making it look pale and peaky, her fists clenching in the fabric of her skirt.

“Does he regret trying to kill himself?” Alana’s voice quivered, like a harp.

“Oh, that would be fine if he did. Except he keeps trying it again and again.” Hannibal let a sardonic smile waft across his face, and then returned to a serious demeanour. “I don’t know what to do, Alana.”

It was the first time he had admitted weakness, or a loss of what to do, and Alana appreciated that.

“It’s brilliant, what you’re doing. But you do know…if this goes on too long…” Alana let her voice trail off into a woeful silence, heavy with unsaid words.

“I will have to transfer him to a psychatrist unit. I understand.” Hannibal nodded, frowning. “There, he will be given 24/7 security, a 4x4 cell, and a nailed down toilet, and he will be kept in a white, suicide watch room.”

Alana noted the tinge of bitterness in his voice, and wondered how the men had gotten so close.

“So he doesn’t regret it, then?” Alana ventured.

“He seems more afraid that I am angry with him.” Hannibal again let the sarcastic smile flit across his pale face. “All the methods seem so childish. Drowning, jumping, cutting…”

“Yeah,” Alana agreed, smoothing back a strand of dark hair. “So we’ve established that he’s stuck in the mindset of both the children, as well as the father.”

“It’s a terrible case.” Hannibal agreed. “It seems that the father had been physically brutalizing them for years. The mother is under custody now, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Alana agreed, looking ill. “The woman just stood by and let the asshole beat the kids. Never laid a finger on her apparently.”

“But what about Will?” Hannibal addressed the elephant in the room. “What to do about Will?”

“I don’t know,” Alana shrugged reluctantly, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “I think you should try to do some therapy, maybe that would help? Ease him into familiarity?”

“Alana,” Hannibal smiled again, a puff of laughter crossing his lips. “I don’t think he’d do well in therapy.”

“Try.”

xXx

And so he did try, because that was the one and only string they could clutch at. An unfamiliar, tugging, blooming sensation started in Hannibal’s stomach as he sat Will down on the usual chair he sat in for therapy, and the man only stared straight ahead, his eyes blank. Still that tugging, pulling feeling persisted as he sat opposite, smiled at Will and crossed his legs, forgetting the state of _almost_ that had existed between them. Hannibal finally identified that persistent pulling as hope. An incredible odd, new feeling for this killer.

“Will, how do you feel?” He hated such banal questions, he considered them vulgar, but as Will’s mentality was nowhere near what it was before, he had to.

“Hmmm…” Will hummed, staring blankly, his eyes unfocusing slightly, as Hannibal was painfully reminded of Will before, of how he would give snappy, cheeky replies to his questions. How he would use that dry sense of humour that never came out otherwise. The hope in his stomach turned colder, as he gritted his fists in his lap.

“Will?” He smiled, the smile looking unnatural on his face. “What do you feel about this arrangement? Are you happy?”

Are you sane, he felt like asking the man, who  didn’t reply. Are you sane? Do you remember me? When will you come back?

But out loud, he only said, “Will, you will have to speak to me. How else are we to get you to remember, eh?”

Will only stared straight ahead, his eyes darkening and clouding over, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows. He started making soft chopping motions with his arm, tapping his hand over the bandage lightly and methodically, with the apparent ease and demeanor of a child. Hannibal’s smile stretched even more painfully, the fist of hope in his stomach gasping for air, freezing. He tried again.

“Will?” He asked, again, as Will didn’t even respond, and played with his wrists. “Will, answer me.” Hannibal had had hundreds of patients before.He had had patients who talked incessantly, patients who droned about unrelated business, patients who cried for hours, and hell, he had to deal with _Franklin_. Of course, he had had catatonic patients before, or near-catatonic, much like Will, who refused to respond, until he stopped, and poiltely called up their carer, and charged them for the day. But this was _Will,_ his mind yelled at him. Will.

“Will you have to reply to me. Will, work with me.” Hannibal felt a new note lace his tight voice, and Will didn’t even look at him, his hand methodically jumping on his wrists.

“ANSWER ME, FOR GOD’S SAKE!” Hannibal didn’t know he could shout, let alone yell like that. In fact, he had never done that before, never in his life, raised his voice in apparent fury at Will, who sat cowering. And once he started, the words came tumbling out of his mouth, and he was unable to stop them, after days of stress, and running around after Will, after days of constant worry over Will.

“You answer me now!” He thundered, the words spilling out of his mouth. “You answer me, and you get back to normal! You SPEAK, understand? Don’t you understand? Are you _thick?_ ” He knew, that this was dangerously outside boundaries, but he couldn’t step back inside, not now. “You have us worrying for your sanity, and all I ask you to to is speak. WHY CAN’T Y---“

He stopped abruptly, breathing heavily, his hands shaking uncontrollably, his head pounding, the early signs of a throbbing headache coming on. The aforementioned fist of hope in his stomach had curled and died the moment he raised his voice. He hated himself at the moment, and if he could have eaten himself, he would have. He disgusted himself. But Will, he noticed with alarm. Will was cowering in the chair, and where his face had been blank before, now was screwed up tightly, tears leaking down his cheeks.

Sobs choked from his lips as he put his hands over his ears, his breath coming in great wet gasps, threatening to choke him, his eyes screwed up with the force of his crying, his legs curling up under him.

“Sorrysorrysorrysorry….” Will sobbed, all he could get out as he begun to cry intensely again, cowering in the plush chair, leaving Hannibal there, his hands cold.

“Will…” He tried. Eight days, eight days he tried to help the man. He tried to protect the man. He tried to make sure that he didn’t kill himself, he tried to keep him talking. He tried to help him remember the brooding, dark, lively man that he _was_ , and he tried so hard to make him forget everything else. There had been progress, however limited. Will had liked him. He had liked him, even in this pitiful, catatonic state, he had liked him, and listened to him. And now, with a few sharp words, he ruined everything he had worked for. And now he was making the man cry so hard he actually was shaking in fear. He wanted to die.

“Will…?” He coaxed, holding a hand out to the man, who ignored it, and went on crying in the chair, his hands still over his ears. “Will, listen to me. I—“

“Sorrysorrysorry!” Will garbled, sobs disfiguring his words. “Sorrysorrysorrysorry! I’m sorry for making you angry! Sorry! Sorrysorrysorry!”

Hannibal felt the fist of hope die a second death, a fabulous, wailing death, as he put a hand on Will’s shoulder, and tried to smile at the man.

“It isn’t your fault, Will.” He told him, as the younger man relaxed hinto him, sobbing sharply into his suit, his hands finally off his ears and in his lap. “Not your fault at all.”

“But you were angry! You were so---“ Will stopped and gasped for air. “You were so angry! You scared me!” This made him burst into fresh tears, and Hannibal put an arm around him, guilt curdling in his stomach.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered into Will’s ear. “I’m so, so sorry, Will.”

“You were angry. Sorrysorrysorrysorry.” Will whispered brokenly, as the crying began to subside, Hannibal’s arms around his shoulder.

“No, no. It wasn’t your fault.” And this itself was the truth. “I’m sorry for shouting.”

“Are you still angry with me?” Will looked up again, his tear streaked face a mask of anticipation. “Are you angry?”

Something died in Hannibal.

“No.” He smiled at Will. “I’ll never be angry at you. Now why---why don’t you…” He tried to say the words, the smile stretching again. “Why don’t you go into the other room, and look at the pictures in my books, now?”

Will nodded, still seeming afraid.

“Do you want---“ The words seemed to die in his throat. “Do you want to go to a fun place tomorrow? There’ll be lot of people to look after you there. To stay with you at night.”

“Ok.” Will said in a small voice. “Are they nice?”

“Of course?” The smile stretched falsely. Hannibal tried to breathe. Air, his lungs screamed, as he tried to breathe through a closed throat.

“You’ll have many friends.”

“Oh.” Will considered, nodding. “Will they be angry at me?” He asked childishly, his eyes looking apprehensively up at Hannibal again.

“No, they won’t. Not even once.” He smiled, and put a hand on Will’s knee.

“Can I see the pictures here?” Will asked tremulously, and Hannibal complied, setting down books in Will’s lap, as he picked up his own mobile phone, and dialed Alana.

“I cannot take care of him. He seems to not show any advancement at all.” He glanced sidelong at Will, who didn’t care, and who flipped dully through a medical book.

“I understand.” Alana’s voice whistled down the phone. “Are you going to place him with Chilton?”

“Yes.” Hannibal said heavily, his eyes closing in disapproval. “He seems fine with the placing.”

“Of course he would.” Alana said. “Do you…er, do you want me to be there with you?”

Hannibal detected traces of tears in Alana’s voice. Having her there, her crying would probably upset Will. But then, having to see Will off by himself would have upset him.

“Yes.” He complied, as Alana breathed into the phone.

“Hannibal, could I ask if…”

No, no, no, please please don’t.

“If the both of you, I mean you and Will, were in a relationship before…?”

No, no, no. We _almost did._ We were almost lovers.

“Yes.”

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Good night.” He snapped his phone off, and stared at Will, a bright, false smile on his face.

“That’s settled then!” He said, in a voice too cheery for his own good. “You get to go to a brilliant new place tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Will seemed absorbed in a picture in the book. “Are you sending me away because I made you angry?”

“No!” The words let itself out of his mouth quickly. “I am not sending you away. You’ll be well looked after in this place. You’ll have a lot of friends.”

Will seemed to brighten, and looked up eagerly.

“Many friends?”

“Hundreds.” Hannibal agreed, feeling a pain, now familiar, in his chest. He ignored it, and swallowed it down, as he made up elaborate stories for Will, involving his hundreds of friends, and a person who would make sure he won’t have nightmares. And as he concocted his lies, his fabrications, he remembered the Will who had once sat in his chair, drinking a glass of wine, and staring obviously at Hannibal’s behind, winking saucily when the man noticed. That Will is dead, he furiously told himself, as he watched Will drift off to sleep, his eyes closed, his lack of stubble (they had shaved this morning) making him look terribly young.

“I don’t want to send you away.” He told the sleeping man, wondering why he only had the nerve to say these things when he was asleep. “I don’t want to send you anywhere. I want you. I want you, Will, more than ever. I want to kiss you, like we used to. I…I want to touch you again.”

He let out a breath he didn’t know he held.

“I love you.” He breathed out sharply, his voice cutting the chilly night air. “I love you.”

But it didn’t matter, because Will couldn’t hear.

He never would, it seemed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT EHHEHHEHEH   
> What would you like to see? A really depressing as crap thingie? Or something upbeat?  
> Please, please do leave your comments!  
> Clicky click eheh <3


	4. Fixed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the inevitable happens, it has to happen doesn't it?   
> Hannibal takes Will to the institution. FINAL CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *snort snort snort* ehehhe
> 
> READ

And the next day dawned as bright as one could hope for, as Chilton, energetically rolling around in his wheelchair, bustled around his (now ramped) office, preparing for the arrival of one Will Graham. Chilton was triumphant, oh yes. This Graham had ‘sassed’ him once, and now Chilton would get to sass him for the rest of his life. Catatonic, they said. Trapped between the mindset of the killer and the victim. Will Graham, the pitable victim. A laugh crossed Chilton’s dry, humorless lips.

And it was that same morning in which Hannibal awoke, and found Will beside him, for once, sleeping calmly. He knew it was late by the tendrils of sunlight peeking through the curtains, he knew he should wake immediately, and take Will to the hospital, but he lay still, just for one minute, feeling Will’s warmth beside him. For one minute, just one minute he pretended that Will Graham, lying beside him, was not catatonic, that he was lying here on his own free will. For one minute, he was trapped in a fantasy, in which Will and he were lovers, instead of _almost_ , and they slept together, and woke up together. But that minute passed, as minutes often do, and he rose, touching Will’s face.

Will’s blank, dark eyes opened immediately, and he looked up at Hannibal, silent, as the other man tried to prolong the parting that no doubt awaited them.

“What would you like for breakfast? Porridge? Eggs and bacon? Toast?” He asked, getting up and tying a dressing gown over his bare chest and sweatpants.

“Toast.” Will’s monotone, monosyllabic reply bounced off into Will’s ear.

Toast was duly prepared, and Will, who had calmly (if not resignedly) fed himself for the past few days, refused to raise spoon to mouth, and instead, stared at the toast, spear liberally with butter and jam, lying on his plate as if mocking him with its’ colourfulness. Hannibal smiled, sighed, and raised the toast to Will’s lips, getting his fingers stained with jam in the process, but Will did not smile back, only methodically opened his mouth, and chewed the toast with a heartrendingly mechanical movement.

“Are you angry with me?” Hannibal asked the question that Will so often uttered, a smile playing at his lips.

Will, a smile blossoming on his face, remained silent, although his eyes twinkled.

“You are angry!” Hannibal caught a bit of Will’s seeming happiness, and slathered another layer of jam on his toast. “Why are you angry, Will?”

The smile changed into a grin, splitting Will’s face open like it used to although his eyes remained blank and dead.

“Are you angry, Will?” Hannibal watched as Will finished the toast with gusto. “Why are you angry with me?”

Will closed his eyes, and shook his head, and stared at Hannibal, a serious, pensieve look on his face.

The smile slid off Hannibal’s lips.

“Is it because I’m sending you to that place?”

Will seemed to consider this, but made no reply.

“It will be better for you.” Hannibal tried to banish the metallic taste the words had on his tongue. “You will be safer there.”

Will looked morose, his eyes clouding over.

“You will have many friends, just like…just like me, Will.” He tried again, putting a hand on Will’s shoulder, and drawing his chair closer to him, smelling his sweet, feverish, _Will_ scent. “Everyone will be your friend.”

Will still frowned, his mouth upset.

“They will all be very nice. Nobody will get angry. Nobody will ever shout at you.”

Will still looked despondent, and then his mouth opened, and he spoke in a gravelly voice.

“You.” He said, his eyes downcast.

“What about me?” Hannibal frowned, confused.

“You’ll. Um. You’ll be alone.”

Hannibal had killed eighteen people, and watched their undeserving blood spill on the floor. He had, of course, eaten their organs like it was any other Sunday lunch. He was aware that he had a heart, of course, but he was sure that the organ did nothing else for him than pump blood around his body. It was unfair, he mused, that he only noticed his heart when it started tearing itself to pieces at the innocent words of an almost lover.

He forced a smile to his face, pulling the muscles mechanically as if with marionette strings.

“I will be fine, Will.”

_I’m going to a fun place today._

_Many other friends._

_I hope they will be nice._

_Your stupid brother’s dead, bitch!_

_I hope they will make nice food._

_Like Hannibal._

_I hope he won’t be sad._

_Now it’s your turn to die, you little cunt!_

_I think he is sad._

_Is it because I’m bad?_

_He is my friend._

_He is my friend._

_Isn’t he?_

They went out, to the large garage, Will looking uninterestedly at the remote control, as Alana drew up in her car, and ran up, smiling at Will, who smiled back nervously.

“Hello, Will!’ She said cheerfully, her voice wavering.

“Are you my friend?” Will demanded, frowning, and Alana, with a shock, remembered dry, sarcastic Will, who dared to sass Jack.

“Of course, Will. I’m your friend. I’ll see you in the…in the new place you’re going…” Alana garbled, as Hannibal came striding up, the garage door successfully opened, and she drew the doctor aside, and put a hand on his arm.

“Listen, I’ll have to go sort out some paperwork and stuff with Chilton, it’ll take about an hour, so you should take Will somewhere he likes, all right?”

“Of course” Hannibal graciously agreed with a tilt of his head. “I don’t have an issue. An hour, you say?”

“Yes. Um, I don’t think he will be allowed contact, after this you know. Chilton apparently wants to keep him under strict observation, or something of that sort.” Alana frowned at the psychatrists insistence.

“Well.” Hannibal tried not to envision killing Chilton. “That will be natural, due to the nature of his ailment.”

“Yes, they’re actually putting him in the Perm.” The Perm, as those who were accustomed referred to it, was the ward for people who were to stay at the institution permantently, and were dangerous, or terminal. Will was probably the latter, although Hannibal had paid extra so that there would be any number of attendants to look after him, to listen to him, and to stay with him at night. A lump grew in Alana’s throat, and she squeezed the doctor’s hand, closing her eyes.

“I am so sorry.” She managed.

And for the second time that day, he pasted a smile on his face, and went to fetch Will in the car.

xXx

“Where would you like to go?” Hannibal asked of the man, who stared straight ahead, circling his wrists with his hands. “What say you we just drive around for a while?”

Will nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the dashboard, not speaking.

“I am sorry.” Hannibal apologized presently, feeling more words at the base of his throat. He didn’t say them, however, because he was afraid that if he did, he would never stop, that he would keep apologizing forever, and that would be terribly embarrasing, would it not?

“Ok.” Will didn’t understand, and never would, as he looked at the trees bustling past, in green and yellow, and some were even shades of red.

“What’s that?” He asked, pointing at a building, a large, circular gray one, and Hannibal looked over at it.

“It’s the Baltimore Opera House.” Hannibal said. The place where I took you to see Tristan und isolde, and you fell asleep, and later we danced. He refused to say those last words though.

“What about that?” Will’s curiosity overtook his silence, and he pointed at a smaller building, although expensively decorated.

“That LeGrande place.” Hannibal said shortly, and he neglected saying the place we ate dinner together, and kissed for the first time.

“Ok.”

xXx

Will Graham opened his eyes to see a dashboard, albeit an expensive one, in front of him, and Hannibal Lecter driving the car, his face stoic and impassive. He didn’t remember much, only that terrible, terrible crime scene, which made his lunch curdle in his stomach. It looked as if it were morning though, the sun hurting his eyelids, and he could sense a taste of jam in his mouth. He must have lost time again. How inconvenient it was, he must have lost at least eight hours. He frowned sulkily, hoping that the damn case would be solved soon, so that he could actually touch the man who was driving so resolutely, his fingers stiff and white on the steering wheel.

“Hannibal,” he said conversationally. “Have I lost time?”

The other man looked incredulously at Will, as though he was a new born child. Will hoped he hadn’t drooled in his sleep or something. Hannibal’s eyes widened, and he stared at Will.

“Um. Excuse me?” He waved his hand in front of Hannibal, who had brought the car to a standstill by the side of the road. “How many hours? Was I out all night, or what?”

The other man didn’t say a word, only stared at Will as though he was the archangel himself alighting.

“Hello?” Will frowned, what the hell was the Hannibal playing at? “Did I give you a thorough report of the evidence, or should we go back again? Stop staring at me, would you?”

And with those words, the man next to Will let his head drop onto the steering wheel, making the horn beep with a loud, rather blaring noise. Will wondered if the world had gone insane, as he gingerly surveyed Hannibal, who seemed to be---

Oh fuck, was he _crying?_

“Um.” Will’s cheeks paled in fright and confusion. “Did I…er…kill anybody while I was at it?”

That was it, wasn’t it? Will thought in a panic, his hands beginning to sweat as he rubbed them on his corduroys. He had killed someone at the crime scene, and now Hannibal was taking him to the prison. Or the court. Which was why Jack and Alana weren’t here. Which was why he was in Hannibal’s car, instead of in that huge monster Jack called his ‘car’, more suited to being on the monster truck highways. Which was why his lover was sitting hunched in the seat, sobbing quietly.

“Um, are you ok?” Will poked Hannibal on his  shoulder. Ok, this was truly frightening him, what had he done? Had he spoiled the scene? Damn it, why was Hannibal not even speaking. “Are you okay?”

Hannibal suddenly rose from his position, as if struck by lightnight, and discreetly dried his eyes on his sleeve.

“I am so sorry, Will.” He said in a gravelly voice. “That was most unexpected.”

“WHAT IS GOING ON?” Will meant to sound harsh and frightening but his voice ended on a squeak, eliciting a toothy smile from Hannibal, which soon disappeared.

“I am sorry,” Hannibal continued apologizing, “It’s just that I have been under this stress for nine days, and to have you suddenly wake was a shock…”

“Wait..” Will frowned. “What nine days? What is going on?”

“You were catatonic for a total of nine days, Will. You had no memory of anything. You didn’t know who I was.” Hannibal cleared his throat. “You were stuck in the mindset of both the killer as well as the children.”

Will’s eye twitched, comprehension dawning on his countenance.

“Oh.” He said, and was all that he could say. “So are you taking me to a hearing now, or what?” Will frowned.

“No.” Hannibal, seeming to have returned to his old, sarcastic self rolled his eyes. “I was taking you to the institution.”

“For what?” Will asked unnecessarily, and then his eyes widened. “Wait, if you’re only taking me now, what the hell was I doing for the past nine days?” Will hoped he hadn’t gone on a murder spree, but then he had been catatonic, hadn’t he? He had been probably sitting in a corner of the woods, drooling.

“Well, I looked after you.” Hannibal shrugged, as if it was something he did everyday.

“Nine days?” Will felt a lump of his own rise in his throat. “You took care of gross, catatonic me for nine whole days?”

Hannibal nodded seriously, and then let a smile touch his lips.

“You let me sleep next to you.”

“Oh.” Will couldn’t say anything, and he didn’t. Instead, what he did was lean over the expensive, polished gear shift, place a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder and pull him towards him, pressing their lips together, whilst cars (and the world) rushed around them. After all, they weren’t _almost_ lovers, not anymore.

They were lovers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I was going to make the ending really angsty and depressing and stuff but whatever, y'all need your little ray of sunshine, don't y'all?   
> GO AND RANT IN THE COMMENTS PLS  
> Oh, and you should go participate in my Tumblr [ giveaway ](http://hannibalisticlove.tumblr.com/post/59770408629/3750-kind-of-giveaway)  
> NOW GO WRITE STUFF IN THE COMMENTS

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there it is!  
> This is, of course, To Be Continued, and I'll have the next one up tomorrow or so.  
> Please, please do leave your comments  
> The comment button is below  
> Clicky click, babes.


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